


holding out for a hero

by clxude



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Birthday, Boys Being Cute, Canon Compliant, Cats, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pastries, Stuffed Toys, as of episode 11, heyheyhey ryleigh i wrote more sports, how could i forget that, small oturi makes a 350 word appearance so enjoy that, that's something i never thought i would write, who am i anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 21:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8862784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clxude/pseuds/clxude
Summary: Nine years, two tiger stuffed animals, and countless pastries later,they find love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> THIS SHIPPPP  
> THIS _shIP_  
>  betaed by sarcasticspacenerd  
> #intoodeep

“Why are you crying?”

 

Yuri looks up, snuffling. It’s one of the older boys, with dark hair and soft eyes. He never lands his jumps and always looks angry when Yakov chastises him. Yuri didn’t know he could talk. 

 

The blonde wipes his nose on the back of his hand before answering. “I missed my jump.”

 

It sounds mean, and Yuri feels bad after he says it, when the older boy winces. His grandpa has always told him to be more considerate, to think before he speaks, to care about others, but - it’s never come easily to Yuri Plisetsky.

 

“It made my knee bleed,” he amends, even though it only really took off the top layer of skin. He’s had worse carpet burns. 

 

The older boy’s mouth forms a perfect O, and - shouldn’t Yuri know his name? He knows it’s been said before, countless times by Yakov and the other coaches, but it still can’t come to mind.

 

“You’ll make the next one,” he says, before walking down the hallway, back towards the rink. Yuri is left in stunned silence, before he stands up.

 

“Of course I will!” he shouts at the boy’s retreating figure.

 

His knee doesn’t hurt anymore. 

 

…

 

A few days later, there’s a bag in his cubby, overflowing with tissue paper. It’s cheap, made of glossy paper and ribbon. He feels awkward opening it, like it’s a joke, or meant for someone other than him. He doesn’t have any friends in his program, since so many of them keep to themselves. 

 

He opens it with shaking hands, barely able to stand up straight in his skates. Underneath all of the delicate paper, is a fluffy tiger stuffed animal with plush fur, roughly the size of Yuri’s head. A note is attached, reading simply  _ ‘you’ll land the next one.’ _

 

Yuri knows who left this, but he still doesn’t know his name. It nags at the back of his skull, pinches the top of his spine.

 

Yuri wants to know desperately, but like all childhood memories, it eventually fades until it’s just the tiger stuffie he keeps by his pillow every night.

 

…

 

He’s fifteen when he meets Otabek Altin. 

 

Something about him is familiar, but Yuri can’t pin it down any further than his voice, and maybe, in a certain light, his eyes. They don’t talk at the initial Grand Prix interviews, but they stand close together for most of it. Yuri keeps catching him in the corner of his vision. He’s attractive, with his dark, swept back hair and undercut, but still, there’s something about it that’s off-putting.

 

“You’re coming in as a favorite to win. Are you feeling any pressure from this?” 

 

Even as Yuri turns back to the interviewer and begins to formulate his answer -  _ no, my time as the top contender in the junior division, as well as Yakov Feltsman and _ _ Lilia Baranovskaya’s coaching, have prepared me for this -  _ Yuri still has a hard time focusing. 

 

Fucking Kazakhstani boys.

 

…

 

He’s running from his so-called Angels in Barcelona when Otabek shows up, like the dark horse the media is always portraying him as. He comes as a shock, but Yuri doesn’t really mind, when his fans are talking about how they can track him by scent a few blocks from the alley he’s hiding in.

 

“What are you doing?” he asks when Otabek tosses a helmet at him, but the older skater just tells him to hurry up. Yuri complies; he’ll do anything at this point to escape rabid fans.

 

They ride through the city, Yuri’s hands wrapped tightly around Otabek’s waist. The blonde tries to keep some semblance of space between them, but it doesn’t last long. He gives up at the first sharp left turn that nearly sends him flying from the motorcycle. 

 

“Where are we going?” Yuri asks. If Otabek replies, the rushing wind is too loud to hear over. Yuri just holds on tighter, tucking his head between Otabek’s shoulderblades. 

 

They stop, eventually, blessedly, at an overlook. When he finally manages to pry himself off of the bike, his legs are shaking and his stomach is lurching.  _ Disgusting -  _ but the thought doesn’t stay long when Otabek’s finger’s brush his jaw as he helps to remove the helmet.

 

They can see the entire city from up here - the tall towers of hotels and office builds, the wide dome of the stadium. Winter is coming to Barcelona, but it’s not cold, no matter how many layers the locals pile on. It won’t even snow - just a pointless chill that won’t kill the bugs or remind Yuri of Russia. 

 

“It’s been a long time,” Otabek says, leaning against the railing.

 

Yuri frowns, wrinkling his brow. “What do you mean?”

 

“We went to Yakov’s summer camp together. It was my first year in the junior division, but I couldn’t keep up with the Russian skaters, so I was put in the novice class. You were one of the best skaters there, but you couldn’t land one of your jumps, no matter how hard you tried.”

 

Yuri nearly falls over in his attempt to get away from the wall. His hood falls off, and cold air bites at his neck, but the sudden realization is too surprising for the chill to bother him. 

 

“That was you? You were the one to find me, that time I was crying in the hallway.”

 

“You always looked so fearless on the ice, like you were completely unstoppable. It was breathtaking. After that, I wanted nothing more than to catch up with you. I wanted that kind of gracefulness.”

 

“Did you ever achieve it?”

 

There’s a smile on Otabek’s face, the barest hint of a smirk.”You’ll have to watch tomorrow.”

 

It takes until Otabek has dropped Yuri off at his hotel room and he’s flopped onto his bed for all of the puzzle pieces to fall into place. 

 

There’s a tiger on his pillow, with soft, plush fur, and now, Yuri knows the name of the boy who gave it to him. 

 

There’s a feeling building in his stomach, and Yuri doesn’t know how to interpret it. He likes to pretend that he has grown up since he was ten, crying over a missed jump at Yakov’s summer camp. But he knows the truth, knows he is still very much the same person - it only took a few words that Otabek Altin to prove that, after all. 

 

…

 

They stay in contact after that, somehow. They mostly snap each other pictures of random cats on their ways to their respective rinks for practice, but somehow, it builds into something else altogether. Talking to Otabek is nice, peaceful. Yuri doesn’t feel the need to always yell at him, surprisingly - or, maybe he’s just not as awful as Victor and his stupid fiance. 

 

And the year passes like that, exploring cities around the world during competitions, watching each other and pausing the live streams to send shitty pictures to each other. 

 

And when Yuri turns seventeen, they face time from two different ends of the world, laughing over terrible jokes and talking about cats they had seen recently, both of them eating cupcakes. It’s stupid and weird, but so incredibly them, talking until Yuri’s phone battery dies, and then picking up the conversation right where they left it when he plugs his charger in. Otabek mocks him for it and Yuri pouts into his cupcake, but he can’t help but smile when Otabek starts to laugh. 

 

…

 

They both make it to Grand Prix Finals. Victor insists on talking to “Yurio’s friend,” and where Victor is, Yuuri is. Yuri hates them, and the quasi-family that’s been thrusted onto him. Victor has to ruin it, has to say they look  _ cute  _ together. 

 

Yuri is still blushing when his short program begins.

 

…

 

“Oh, Otabek, I saw this kitten, and it was so  _ tiny.  _ I wanted to bring it home, but Grandpa says if I get any more he’ll kick me out.” Yuri wrinkles his nose. “He doesn’t like finding their hair everywhere.” 

 

“You can call me Beka, if you want.” It’s sudden, and quiet, but a shift, a downhill slide that Yuri will gladly follow. 

 

“Oh.” Smiling, he says, “Okay.”

 

They’re both blushing, and God, Yuri is blaming Victor for any feelings he may or may not have developed over the past year. 

 

Once the call finally ends, Yuri screams into his pillow and squeezes his tiger stuffed animal until he can’t feel his fingers anymore.

 

…

 

He’s eighteen when the GP finals are held in France. Otabek has never been before, so Yuri takes it as an excuse to show him around the city. Looking at historical monuments quickly downgrades to finding the cheapest bakery, though, which is quickly followed by petting every last stray cat they can get their hands on. 

 

It’s getting close to noon when they stumble into their third bakery. The air of the cramped shop smells heavily of pastry. 

 

“Those look good,” Yuri says, pointing to a display of raspberry croissants. 

 

“Do you want to get those and some chocolate ones?” Yuri nods, and Otabek goes up to order.

 

They leave the bakery with a bag weighed down with croissants and a few cookies, and walk to the park across from the street. They find a bench surrounded by flowers, although most of them are dead and brown this far into winter. 

 

A few minutes later, Otabek asks if he can try some of Yuri’s croissant. Yuri hands it over without thinking, and immediately regrets it when Otabek sinks his teeth into it, humming softly at the taste.

 

“Sweet,” he says, but he’s looking straight at Yuri. The blonde finds himself blushing slightly as he eats the rest of the pastry.

 

He blames it on the cold wind.

 

…

 

It’s the day before Yuri’s nineteenth birthday, when he flies to Almaty. He’s never been to Kazakhstan before, but from the air, it doesn’t look that different from Russia or anywhere else in the region. 

 

People are slow to get off of the plane, and Yuri feels like he has somehow managed to get stuck behind every single passenger, the flight attendants, and the pilot herself in his quest to deboard. 

 

Waiting for his bag is even worse. It’s not hard to pick out, but it just takes  _ so long  _ to come down the conveyor belt. He nearly lets out a loud cheer when he spots his tiger striped luggage. 

 

He sends a text to his grandpa to let him know he landed safely as he walks through the concourse to the exit. This as well seems to take longer than it should, but the second he sees Otabek, he breaks into a run. 

 

He waves his phone in the air, and Otabek returns the gesture. It’s not until Yuri is nearly to him that he notices what Otabek is holding. 

 

“Is that a tiger?” he asks, pleasantly surprised.

 

“I figured it was time for a new one.”

 

Yuri grins and drops to his knees to rifle through his carry on bag. It’s towards the bottom and takes some work to not knock anything onto the floor, but eventually, he digs up the stuffed animal that Otabek gave him all those years ago.

 

“Trade?” He offered out the cat.

 

The new tiger is softer and cleaner, though Yuri isn’t surprised. While he washed it regularly, it still is a nine year old stuffie. 

 

“Come on,” Otabek says, taking Yuri’s hand. “I want to show you the city.”

 

###  … 

 

Before Yuri and Otabek became friends, the blonde barely ever went to cafes. Now, every time they’re together, it’s all they seem to eat - sweet pastries, soft cookies, and warm bread. 

 

The two of them walk down the street, the morning sunlight hitting their backs. It’s Yuri’s nineteenth birthday, and Otabek has taken it as an excuse to buy him pastries from every shop they pass. The brunette won’t even let him hold the boxes, which annoys Yuri just slightly, but it’s still nice, being together. 

 

Even as the sun rises higher in the cloudless sky, it never becomes any warmer, so eventually they head back to Otabek’s. The apartment is pleasantly cozy as the two of them flop onto the couch. Otabek switches the tv on to the news before opening the first box. It’s full of still-hot samsas, pastries filled with almond paste before being dipped in syrup. Eating them is a bit of a struggle, and Yuri feels like his face is covered in syrup after just one bite.

 

“They taste good,” he says, after finishing his first. 

 

“I’m glad,” Otabek says, smiling when he turns to look at Yuri. “You have syrup on your face.”

 

Otabek scoots a bit closer and reaches out. The motion is jerky, hesitant. Yuri leans into it and Otabek follows his lead, until his thumb is wiping away the syrup from Yuri’s bottom lip. His hand stays, though, tracing the curve of Yuri’s jaw.

 

The air of the apartment feels uncomfortably hot now. Yuri’s blushing, but so it Otabek, and they’re both leaning closer - 

 

His lips taste like almonds, sticky sweet. Yuri presses just a bit harder, leaning into it until Otabek’s hands leave his jaw and tug on his hair instead, scratching his scalp. It’s slow, and perfect, and - 

 

_ “Beka,”  _ Yuri whispers when he pulls away. 

 

“Happy birthday, Yura,” Otabek whispers back, the pastries long forgotten. 

**Author's Note:**

> changed my url at violet-boy, so mother-iwa-chan is an anime side blog?? violet is mostly aesthetic, and ocean waves, and fashion, so? if you're interested  
> i wanna write more of this ship, so please tell me what you think in the comments!! i'm always looking to improve my characterization and writing in general :)


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